Tomorrow's Treasure

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “Open your workbooks to page ten, please. We shall be a little late with closing our lessons today.”

  Arcilla groaned. Evy avoided her aunt’s eyes. If only she could so easily avoid the questions filling her mind, as though they were burned there with a branding iron.

  After school was over, Aunt Grace came to speak with Evy.

  “Let’s walk in the garden. Better bring our wraps, there’s a chill wind blowing.”

  They went down by the backstairs and out into the garden. The wind rushed through the treetops and sent the clouds scuttling across the sky. Rain threatened them as they strolled through one of the narrow rocky paths deeper into the huge garden. The green willows spread their lacy branches and drooped toward the clipped grassland, reaching out like the long arms of an octopus.

  “You must have wondered why I was worried when you were having tea with Lady Camilla.”

  “What am I to think? It was all so strange and mysterious. And Sir Julien—the way he looked at me. I felt like a specimen on display. Why is he insisting Lady Camilla leave with him this afternoon? I thought she was going to stay and live at Rookswood.”

  “So did I. She must have changed her mind. Her husband, I hear, is ill and needs her to return to Capetown. That must be another reason Sir Julien is concerned.”

  “He treats her like a prisoner.”

  Aunt Grace walked along, a small frown pinching her brow, her meditative gaze on the rocky path at her feet. Unlike Lady Camilla, Aunt Grace wore sturdy booted shoes.

  “You might as well know the unpleasant truth, Evy.”

  Her heart pounded. Was she at last to understand all the mysteries plaguing her?

  “Camilla Brewster is not well. I’ve learned that she is mentally ill. In the beginning she seemed quite normal, but after suffering through a stillbirth, she has not been able to recover emotionally. Afterward she desperately wanted a child, but the attending physician spoke privately to Anthony and Sir Julien about not taking the risk—a risk even to herself. Since then she has run away from Cape House several times since her marriage to Anthony Brewster.”

  Evy did not speak for a moment. Lady Camilla unstable? But she had appeared quite sane. She finally managed a question. “A risk to herself?”

  “Yes. And there was the possibility of mental deficiencies in the children, as well. Anthony thought it best not to attempt having children again, which brought tension between them because Camilla would not accept such a thing. She was eventually placed under medical supervision at Cape House. And to make matters worse, while Sir Julien was away in Germany, she arrived here in England, looking forward to being with Honoria, only to receive the sorry news of her death. So it’s really no wonder Julien thinks it best to take her back when he returns home to South Africa.”

  Evy paused by the holly bushes, still thick with red berries. She frowned as she pulled some off and tossed them. “I feel sorry for her. And why was she especially interested in me, Aunt? I could see that she was. I’m sure she was about to reveal something personal when Sir Julien came in and stopped her. His very presence intimidated her.”

  Grace sighed. “I suppose it has to do with a story I’ve heard—about a scandal in the family at Cape House. After you hear it you will also understand why it would not have been wise for me to discuss it with you sooner. It must be kept in strictest confidence, as such stories, regardless of their lack of veracity, can ruin reputations as well as important relationships.

  “The tale has to do with Camilla’s husband, Anthony Brewster. There was talk of a baby. Sir Julien fears she has worked herself into a stressful emotional state after convincing herself that Anthony is the father and—that you could be the child.”

  Evy stopped cold, staring at her aunt. She tried to speak twice, but nothing came out. Then, “Me!”

  Aunt Grace’s features softened. “I know how you must feel. It is all wicked gossip and not worthy to be repeated. But you were so upset about Camilla’s actions that I needed to explain what I felt was driving her.”

  “I had already heard about a baby, but—”

  “From whom?”

  At her aunt’s sharp gaze, Evy turned back to the holly bush. “Oh, just Lizzie. She picked up bits of gossip here and there. When she told Mrs. Croft about it, I happened to be there. But why would Lady Camilla think I am the child? My parents were missionaries; she must know that.”

  “Who can explain the irrational notions in the mind and heart of a woman who lost her only child and desperately wants a substitute? Especially when she is convinced that her husband fathered another woman’s child, and she cannot risk having one of her own. I believe the scandal includes a tale of diamonds that were stolen from Cape House years ago. She also believes Anthony had something to do with that. As you can see, it is enough to disturb any woman who fears such things about her own husband.”

  Evy plucked at the holly bush, not caring that she was being rough. “Poor Lady Camilla. I feel so sorry for her. I wonder if that’s why Sir Julien looked at me like that?”

  Aunt Grace started. “What do you mean?”

  “The way he stared at me, searching my face, my eyes. I thought it very rude of him. He thinks he can do most anything.” A little like Rogan.

  “Yes, Julien can be rude, and yet there are characteristics about him that are also gentlemanly and generous. I am sure he meant you no harm.”

  “But why stare at me like that? What was he looking for?”

  Grace walked on then, forcing Evy to leave the holly bushes and follow.

  “Probably because he knew Clyde Varley and my sister, Junia. They occasionally went to Capetown to get supplies for the mission station at Rorke’s Drift and would stop by and see Sir Julien at Cape House.”

  More surprising information. Was there no end to the things she did not know about her own family? “Sir Julien does not seem a Christian gentleman to me.”

  “I do not know about that. His interest in Clyde centered on a new British colony. Julien came here hoping to get a charter from the Queen to proceed. Originally, he felt that allowing missionaries to journey with the farmers would give the enterprise more respectability and acceptance.”

  “He intended to ask my parents to join the colony, is that it?”

  “Yes. Junia once wrote to me about it.”

  “I wish you had kept her letters. It would make me feel closer to her and Father if I had them.”

  When Aunt Grace hesitated to respond, Evy glanced up at her. Was she hiding something? Quick denial and criticism swept Evy. How could she doubt her dear aunt? She must not be suspicious of Aunt Grace now, not after all she had been through, all the while saving some of her meager earnings in the hope of putting Evy through school.

  Evy fixed her gaze on the hard ground. “So he stared at me because I reminded him of my parents?” Could that be the real reason, or was there something else?

  “That could certainly explain it. But it would be better to forget him, and Lady Camilla, too. In a way, I’m glad she is leaving.”

  Evy glanced at her. “Now there will not be anyone to oversee Rookswood.”

  “On the contrary, Sir Julien told me that before Sir Lyle returns, his maiden sister, Elosia Chantry, will be coming from London. Sir Julien arranged it. She is very fond of Arcilla and Rogan. So let’s forget the unpleasant past and walk into the future with confidence and peace. Shall we?” She smiled, but there was a tension around her mouth and eyes that worried Evy.

  She tried to smile to ease her aunt’s concerns. “I want that too, but I’d still like to know everything I can about my parents. And I still keep wondering about that stranger in Grimston Wood months ago. Who could he have been?”

  “Before your Uncle Edmund died, he had a talk with Sir Lyle. It seems that Lady Camilla had arrived from Capetown in the company of her cousin John from Natal. He journeyed on to the Australian gold fields. It may have been John you met.”

  “Australia?” She remembered what Li
zzie had told her about a letter Camilla had written to Australia. “Yes, that’s possible. If she confided in him, he might have thought I was related.” So that was why he had suggested she should visit Rookswood. And yet …

  “But Evy, I must warn you again. There is no end to the pain that reckless gossip can inflict. It is wise not to mention any of this. Lady Camilla’s delusions must be kept secret.”

  Evy envisioned Lizzie repeating the tale, with her own enhancements.

  “It is likely you will one day marry Derwent and live in Grimston Way. For your sake, your children’s, and their children’s, let’s not make more of this than absolutely necessary.”

  Aunt Grace was right. Evy did not care to have any dark mysteries shrouding her parents’ past, or her own!

  They walked back to the house together and up to their rooms.

  Later that afternoon, through a small window in the hall, Evy watched Sir Julien Bley and Lady Camilla Brewster being assisted into the coach by Mr. Bixby.

  Was Lady Camilla actually ill? Or was it just a way for Sir Julien to control her? What could be the real reason Sir Julien did not want Lady Camilla to remain at Rookswood? Could there be more truth to Lady Brewster’s claims about a secret child than even Aunt Grace knew?

  As though she were once again in the tearoom, Evy could almost feel Sir Julien’s chill, searching stare … feel the firm grip of those lean, hard fingers grasping her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

  Just what had he expected to see—or hoped he would not?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When Rogan came home from school that summer, he did not mention Master Henry’s precious map to Evy again. She began to wonder if it really existed. Had it just been a tale to entertain her and Arcilla, while he hoped to make them afraid of a ghost?

  She was relieved no one in the house had suspected them of snooping in Henry’s rooms. But one good thing came from it: The incident had triggered the start of Evy’s friendship with Arcilla. In the months following that day Arcilla regained her weight, and there was now color in her cheeks. On her fourteenth birthday she carried a gilded mirror with her, which she took out during teatime to study her reflection, quite pleased with what she saw.

  “One more year and I shall go to school in France. I can hardly wait. And you?” She turned to Evy. “Will you attend the music school?”

  Evy looked away. She knew she did not have adequate resources for such a thing, no matter how much she wanted it. Uncle Edmund’s death seemed to have closed so many desirable opportunities. “We must trust the Lord with our disappointments.”

  Arcilla smiled. “Spoken like a true daughter of the vicarage.”

  In spite of disappointments and uncertainties, Evy enjoyed living at Rookswood. On Sundays she and Aunt Grace would visit with Vicar Brown and Derwent, usually joining them for Sunday dinner. In the evenings Evy played the piano for them in the rectory parlor, then she and Derwent would walk in the garden and talk about his future. Soon now, he would be attending divinity school in London.

  Aunt Grace naturally believed Evy’s music would be a help to her as a vicar’s wife. It would work well in the church services, and she could always bring a little extra money into the family by becoming a music teacher like Mrs. Tisdale, but Evy prayed for more than that. She wanted to become proficient, to study with the masters.

  But how to manage those expensive years of study?

  Evy’s favorite times of the year were summer and Christmas holidays, for that was when Rogan and Parnell came home. Not that they noticed her, of course. On his first visit home from school Rogan had ignored her. It had hurt, but she told herself it was to be expected. He was there only two weeks before leaving again. She found out later from Arcilla that he had taken his horse to Heathfriar estate, the Bancrofts’ home. It seemed that Lord Bancroft’s daughter, Miss Patricia, was an avid horsewoman.

  No wonder she appealed to Rogan.

  Even so, everyday events were pleasant enough, and as time rolled by, Evy all but forgot the strange tales of Henry Chantry’s murder, the Kimberly Black Diamond, and the gossip surrounding Lady Camilla and her husband Anthony Brewster. Even Lizzie seemed to have forgotten and turned her attention on Arcilla’s comings and goings, as the girl was growing up fast.

  Lady Elosia Chantry, Sir Lyle’s eldest sister, had arrived the year before to take over the household, and Sir Lyle, whose voyage home to London had been long delayed, finally returned to Rookswood nearly two years after his wife’s death.

  “Papa, you are home at last!” Arcilla ran to throw her arms around his slim waist. “Do not ever leave again without me.”

  A wan smile momentarily softened his lean, craggy face. “It is good to be home, Daughter. How beautiful you have become. Where is Rogan?”

  Arcilla affected a pretty pout and stepped aside as Rogan met him. “Hello, Father.”

  “There you are. Ah, a happy birthday, son.” The squire threw an arm around Rogan’s shoulders, and a happy smile lit his face as he looked his younger son over.

  Evy, watching from the gallery, her elbows resting on the rail, thought it was clear which of his children he doted on.

  “You are quite the young man at sixteen. Even taller than Parnell.”

  Rogan laughed, but drew away and pushed Parnell forward to his father. Parnell grasped his father’s arms, meeting him at eye level.

  It was a curious thing, Evy thought. Rogan so darkly handsome, so bold and adventurous, looked more like his Uncle Henry than he did his lean, ruddy father. It was Parnell who reflected his father’s physical image, with chestnut hair and a slighter frame.

  “Did you bring me any diamonds, Father?” Parnell asked.

  Rogan shook his head wryly. “You sound like Arcilla at five, asking for candy.”

  “Candy diamonds.” Arcilla giggled. “Oh, how tickling.”

  “Lyle, is that you?”

  Lady Elosia came from the other end of the great hall, and Evy watched her brisk walk as she moved toward her brother, her hand out-stretched. It was as though he were a guest instead of the squire. Lady Elosia was taller than her brother and, with her large-boned frame and silvery-blue hair, looked little like him.

  “It is past time you returned,” she scolded. “Dear Arcilla has been demented since you left. More’s the pity, indeed, coming so soon after Honoria’s death. Really, Lyle, you should not have left Rookswood when you did.”

  The squire dismissed Parnell as though he had not heard his question about diamonds and brushed his wide mouth against his maiden sister’s white, powdered cheek.

  “Hello, Elosia. I am afraid the call of the Kimberly mines could not wait.” His tired voice contained an injured edge to it. “Missing Julien’s arrival here at Rookswood as I did, I had to remain at Cape House until he arrived with Camilla. Bixby tells me she wanted to stay here.”

  “Trust a coachman to see through things. Truly, Camilla had no choice. Julien practically escorted her from Rookswood with a gun at her back. I daresay, I have never liked that stepbrother of ours.”

  “Jesting about guns after what happened to Henry is not wise, Elosia.”

  “No, naturally not.” For the first time she appeared a little put out. “Well, at least you are home.”

  “I am very grateful for your being here, Sister.”

  “You always were doe-eyed and helpless without Honoria,” Lady Elosia said in an adoring, albeit scolding voice, and she smiled and kissed both his cheeks. “Come along, dear boy, you must be famished. I say, Lyle! You’ve lost weight. I must do something about that!”

  Rogan looked up at Evy with a half-amused smile.

  Sir Lyle glanced in the direction of the great library. “Did my books arrive from the publisher in New York?”

  “You mean all those geology books?” Lady Elosia wrinkled her nose the way Arcilla often did. “Sorrowfully, yes. I had Bentley stack them in your office. But look here, Lyle, I simply won’t allow you to close yourself up with your book
s and meditations and ignore your need to find a new life. You cannot mourn dear Honoria forever, you know. By the way, that reminds me—we are invited to Heathfriar next week. Miss Patricia is having her birthday ball.”

  “Oh how grand!” Arcilla clapped her hands, tagging behind her father. “I shall see Charles Bancroft.”

  Lyle scowled down at her. “Forget Charles, Daughter. When you reach sixteen your uncle Julien wishes you to meet Peter Bartley. A marvelous man. I went there to meet him.”

  “Peter Bartley? But Papa, I love Charles.” Arcilla whirled toward Rogan, grabbing hold of him. “Tell him, Rogan, tell him. Tell Papa how you and I are such good friends with Charles and Patricia.”

  “You have already told him.”

  “Who is Peter Bartley?” Lady Elosia frowned at Lyle. “We must be careful about Arcilla’s future marriage. I will not have her unhappy.”

  “Now, Elosia, the situation is still several years off. I simply do not want Arcilla getting too involved with Lord William’s son.”

  “Yes, who is Peter Bartley?” Arcilla fussed with the frills on her stylish leg-of-mutton sleeves.

  “I know who Bartley is,” Parnell spoke up, lightly yanking Arcilla’s golden tresses. “He is a very important fellow, isn’t he, Father? You see? I have been studying my politics just the way you expected.” He tossed a competitive look toward Rogan. “Peter Bartley may head up Uncle Julien’s new colony deeper into South Africa.”

  Sir Lyle turned toward him, brows lifted. “You are right, Parnell. That is why Julien wishes Arcilla to meet him when she grows up a little more.”

  “I am already grown-up.” Her head tilted to the side, and a pretty smile showed a dimple. “But I simply will not go to that savage place, will I, Aunt Elosia?” She went and put her arms around her, looking at her father with what Evy was certain was an unexpected challenge, softened with a teasing tone, as if trying to woo him.